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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029481">All Night Nothing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosyredlipstick/pseuds/Rosyredlipstick'>Rosyredlipstick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clubhouse 2.0 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A whole tag just for Tom, F/M, Healing, Mentions of weight anxiety, References to Depression, Texting, mentions of other losers - Freeform, references to domestic abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:08:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosyredlipstick/pseuds/Rosyredlipstick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Beverly ran from Derry in the middle of the night, she was alone for 2 weeks.<br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24952033/chapters/60396934">—A Beverly Marsh prequel to Knock, Knock—</a><br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clubhouse 2.0 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All Night Nothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>no beta we die like clowns<br/>Also! The "..." in the text convos as dividers signals passage of time! Bev's texts come from the right. just so you know!<br/>Enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I want to keep my dreams, even bad ones, because without them, I might have nothing all night long.”</p><p>― Joseph Heller</p><hr/><p>
  <b>Ben.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>Bill and Mike brought back takeout! </em>
</p><p>Be down in a sec.</p><p>
  <em>….</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Was that you? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Did you run out for something? It’s late, you could have taken my car! :) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Are you going to the store? I think Bill wanted some instant coffee for the morning.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>… Bev?</em>
</p><hr/><p>When Beverly arrived at the airport, it had barely cracked dawn. </p><p>Her flight wasn’t even for another two hours. It was booked two nights ago on Stan’s phone when she claimed she needed to make arrangements with her assistant. He was the only one who thought to leave his phone behind before Neibolt and therefore was the only one with one in working condition. They had spent most of the day before in a dingy cell phone store attempting to each get set up with new phones. </p><p>She had bought the ticket while curled on the bathroom floor—god, her weariness of bathrooms and mirrors made so much more sense now, with everything floating (not floating, never floating) back into place—and deleted the search history afterward. She had to sneak out to the drugstore to beg the use of their ancient printer. </p><p>When she crept back into the inn that night, only to grab her minimal luggage, her body was frozen and tense at getting caught, terrified at making even the slightest sound. It all felt so familiar—the fear, the way her feet knew to keep light and avoid creaky floorboards. Her mind made note of it all automatically, without thought—Bill had tripped over a nail at the end of the staircase that morning, and Mike’s shoes cracked over the old hardwood by the doorway so she knew exactly where to keep careful. </p><p>Ben texted her half an hour after the taxi pulled off the curb. Of course, he was the first one to notice. <em>Of </em><em>course. </em>She didn’t respond and clicked off her phone. They would all find her note on the counter, eventually. Her new phone still had the thin plastic wrap over the screen. She pulled it up then slid her fingers back over it, pushing the bubbles to the corners. She did it again. Again.</p><p>She had a female driver. That was good, safe. She pocketed her phone, the screen lit up with notifications already. </p><p>The last time she had left Derry, she spent the entire drive quietly crying in her aunt’s passenger seat. She hardly knew the woman—her mom’s distant sister in Portland who was more story than real life. The last they even saw each other was her mother’s funeral where she hugged Bev, wiped her face, and told her it was going to be okay, and then she disappeared right as her father came up to put his hand on (around, holding, clenching) Bev’s shoulder. She didn’t even say goodbye, but Bev didn’t really expect her to. </p><p>But she came when the cops called, after her father’s body was found and Bowers was captured and Bev was legally declared an orphan, as if she hadn’t been one for years. Aunt ‘just call me Moni’ Monica, from Portland. She helped Bev set up her room, never bothered to give Bev a curfew, and looked the other way when Bev stumbled in past morning reeking. When Bev shook her head in confusion at the phone—<em> ‘a bill from derry is calling?’— </em>she always took care of it. </p><p>Bev was alone now. Moni died years ago—car accident, one of those horrible ones you drive past and inhale sharply at, maybe even pray at if you’re the sort. </p><p>The taxi driver was singing along to the radio under her breath. Soft but lifting, some oldie with low drum and a deep, heavy voice. </p><p>She closed her eyes, her hand wrapped tight around her purse. She wouldn’t sleep, she couldn’t, but it was enough for now.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>Ben.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>Found your note. I’ll tell the others. Take as much time as you need, Beverly. Please, let me know if you need anything.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If it’s okay, I’ll keep texting you updates. But if you don’t want them, that’s fine! :) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Richie keeps sending memes in the middle of the night, so I’ve had to put him on Do Not Disturb. Works great! :D</em>
</p><p>
  <em>...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’re all flying out this morning. Eddie is already freaking out about airport germs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ah. Richie just licked his hand and rubbed it on Eddie’s face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sigh. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was nice having eardrums, I suppose. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m so happy that Mike’s coming with us. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was going to take a few weeks to pack everything up, but we did it for him. He didn’t want to take much, so it was mostly making arrangements. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m convincing him toward visiting Nebraska for a few weeks… will keep you updated. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wants to visit Carhenge!!! I can work with that!!!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bill better not steal him away forever to California. Ah, now Richie’s getting in on it?? I have to defend my right to Mike time BRB </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Richie lives in a MANSION???</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hm. Bit too modernist for me. But it’s nice! Can you believe Trashmouth lives here? [zillow.download.listing958362.IMG]</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nebraska is full of exciting opportunities!!! You’ll have to help me convince them!</em>
</p><hr/><p>The first thing she did before taking off was take out as much cash as she could at the airport ATM, wishing it was more. After arriving back in New York, she looked up another taxi number and found the cheapest cash-only motel she could within driving distance. They didn’t even ask for ID and accepted <em> Rachel Tozier </em>without question. Clearly, this was the sort of place that didn’t mind customers who’d prefer no paper trail. </p><p>She already cut up the rest of her credit cards at Derry. Tom would be watching them, and she was fine without them. The temptation to use them would be better gone. </p><p>She let herself in (with a key, an actual key—that’s good. She once saw a Dateline about how easy those swipe in cards were to grab and had been wary ever since—and a chain for the door, even better) and locked the door after her. </p><p>It was small, dusty, and incredibly unkempt. There were some small bits of visible trash around the small dustbin. She didn’t trust the linens, and the entire room smelt like mildew. Despite being a sunny afternoon, the thick patterned curtains resisted any attempts at brightening up the space.  </p><p>She’d never stayed somewhere so off-putting. Even the patterned tan wallpaper seemed to stare at her in question: <em> what the hell are you doing here, Marsh?  </em></p><p>God, she wished she knew. </p><p>She tossed her bags on the ground, stripped her clothes, and threw herself on the bed. She stared at the ceiling. Brown water spots stained the paint, darker in the middle, right over the bed. (She could taste muddy water in her mouth, familiar hands desperately grabbing at her as she was pulled, pulled, pulled, pulled) -</p><p>She sat up quickly, cursing. Fuck. </p><p>Fuck it. She was probably staying here for a while and what were they gonna do, yell at her? She grabbed the edge of the mattress and pulled with all her strength, her old body still aching from the cistern. She rounded the frame and pushed the rest off with her legs. With a heavy <em>thud, </em>the mattress slid onto the scratchy carpet, away from the water stain. </p><p>Floor mattress. God. </p><p>She was too tired for this shit. She threw herself back on the mattress. This time, she closed her eyes.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Ben.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Look! [flowers.IMG] </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A woman was selling them outside the airport. Beautiful! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>....</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Weird being alone after Loser craziness. Like someone cut off all my senses. It’s very quiet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to play some music. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Are we supposed to go back to normal after this?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How could we? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope the others are doing okay. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope you’re doing okay, Beverly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&lt;3</em>
</p><p>
  <em>NKOTB are on :) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>....</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I ran into the cutest couple today. Been together for 55 years! Wow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They were high school sweethearts &lt;3 </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Met at a football game and split a milkshake, so cute!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They were wearing matching outfits, you would have loved it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hope you’re doing okay :) </em>
</p><hr/><p>She had to leave the room on her second day. Her stomach was going crazy, and she had long since eaten the airplane chips and peanuts. And she was so fucking thirsty. She didn’t trust the tap water—it came out yellow at first before clearing up—and it wasn’t like the place offered room service. </p><p>There was a corner store within walking distance. 5 minutes, she looked it up on her phone. One visit where she’d grab enough for a few days—how long was she going to be here?—and she wouldn’t have to leave again until she was ready. Until she had an idea of what she was going to do. </p><p>She emptied one of her bags, a large zipped tote she’d picked up at a store in Derry, and slung it over her shoulder. She started at the front door for a long, long time. It was only a five-minute walk. Fifteen minutes in the store, no more. If she wasn’t done by then, she’d leave without her stuff and come back another day. Then five minutes back. Thirty minutes max. She would be back in thirty minutes, and then she could eat. </p><p>Tom was not going to be waiting outside a shitty motel to catch her as she ran out for food. She repeated it to herself, multiple times. </p><p>Tom was not going to be waiting for her, because he had no idea where she was. </p><p>She pulled her hoodie tighter around herself. She had pinned her hair up and slipped on a pair of chunky sunglasses. Both were from Derry—she couldn’t wait until she could get some decent clothes and she could burn these. There was no way she was going to carry Derry around for the rest of her life.</p><p>She opened the door. No one in the hallway. She took a step outside, double-checked the lock behind her, and then took another. Another. Another, until she was outside the building and then some more. 5-minutes worth of steps and she was there. </p><p>She grabbed a shopping basket and started loading it up. </p><p>Bottled water. A stack of those instant noodles. A cheap-looking can opener. Hot Cheetos, spray cheese. Obnoxiously red canned pasta. Plastic spoons. Small bottles of soap—shampoo, conditioner, some dish soap that would have to double as body. Toilet paper, tampons. Trail mix. A bottle of vodka. Saltines and peanut butter. Instant oatmeal. Soup, more chips. </p><p>She stopped then. Her time, and bag space, was running out. She had to go, and so she did. She had to walk back, and so she did. She had to lock the door after herself and check it a handful of times before she could relax, and so she did. </p><p>She set the tote back down. It was heavy—it had left red marks on her shoulder. She rubbed at the skin, wincing. </p><p>There was a small, wobbly desk shoved in the corner where she set out and organized her groceries. There wasn’t a fridge or any way to heat any of it up—perhaps she could risk the coffee machine in the corner to boil some water. </p><p>God, if Eddie could see her now, he’d probably refuse to even look at her again. </p><p>She wondered how he was doing. He was supposedly back in New York too, according to his texts. He even sent a photo of his coffee cup once, a local franchise. She’d been there a few times for meetings. She liked their frozen teas. </p><p>He never mentioned anything about his wife in the groupchat. Not like Stan, or even Bill. Like Bev, almost. </p><p>The groupchat had been blowing up without her, especially whenever someone sent along a photo of some sort—Mike, holding up a set of new car keys, Stan and Patty smiling happily at the farmers market, Richie looking stoned out of his mind but above a television screen with the <em> Ghostbusters </em>logo glowing. Occasionally, they’d share small tidbits about work (Eddie, who detailed his feud with a coworker in a message that was so long Bev couldn’t force herself to read) or home life (Stan, with pictures of Patty on their weekly morning walk). </p><p>She scrolled through the chat, ravenous. If it was a chat full of anyone else, she'd probably be jealous. But with them, after everything, she couldn't muster it up. </p><p>Mike sent another photo. Him, beaming in front of another state border sign. <em>Now Entering...</em></p><p>Every time he crossed a state line, they'd gotten a photo showing his freedom, his progress. Where he was going, if he actually had a destination, she had no idea. </p><p>He wasn't running, not like she was, but he was going somewhere. God, she couldn't even imagine that. </p><p>She swallowed, her heart in her throat, and wiped at her wet cheeks. She fumbled her hands around her phone and clicked to the groupchat.</p><p>
  <em>Safe travels, Mikey.</em>
</p><hr/><p>She was eating peanut butter out of the jar when she thought briefly about work. She had never actually gotten in contact with her assistant, and she was technically still the partner CEO. Tom, always quick to avoid a scandal, must have cooked up a story. If she googled her name, she’d probably read about some “leave of absence” she had announced, or maybe just a quiet line slipped in with a PR announcement about taking some vacation time. She couldn’t force herself to care even slightly about work, so she hadn’t found out the deal yet. </p><p>There was a commercial about some multi-use blender playing on the TV. It'd been going for twenty minutes now, but she couldn't convince herself to roll out of bed and look for the remote where she'd thrown it last night. She checked her phone instead, sucking on the end of the plastic spoon. </p><p>Ben had been texting her since she left. Stupid stuff. He was a multi-texter and didn’t require a response to keep going. She checked each one, multiple times before bed, when she woke up. She’d fall asleep thinking of them like bedtime stories, imagining Ben sitting down with an old couple and warming their love story out of them. She’d imagine herself brave enough to be with him, a fantasy self who laughed at all his jokes and didn’t wince when he turned too quickly toward her. </p><p>She never responded, she couldn’t. What could she say? How could she begin?</p><p>The groupchat went on without her. She’d only responded a few times, never to any direct questions. Random reactions to photos, an odd thumbs-up emoji. It wasn't nearly enough, she knew. </p><p>She took another spoonful of peanut butter, sighing. </p><p>She owed them each so much, but she’d have to start somewhere.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Ben.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Burned myself making it, but it’s finally done! [chicken.marsala1.IMG]</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It tastes good too!! That’s always a nice benefit haha. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Did you see Richie’s photo in groupchat? Hope he’s doing okay, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>After everything with Eddie down there… </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ll call him later.</em>
</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>Glad to see you in the groupchat this morning. You’re right, Patty seems so kind! I can’t wait to meet her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let me know if I’m annoying you too much :) I know the notifications probably get a bit much. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s not annoying. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>! :D</em>
</p><hr/><p>She was eating chips and watching horrible daytime television, mostly dated game shows, when some horrible diet commercial came on and she sat up. She looked down at herself, surprised at the realization. All the clothes she grabbed up in Derry were made for moving—a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn in days, mostly thick leggings and comfortable blouses and sweaters—and were slightly on the ill-fitting side. So she didn’t notice right away. She had definitely lost some weight, despite only eating junk since she arrived. She felt a shot of anxiety. </p><p>Tom watched her weight so carefully, a comment for every gain and loss. He used to reach around her from the back, almost like he was going to hug her from behind, and pause. </p><p>“Getting a little tubby?” He’d laugh but not really. “Soon, I won’t be able to hug you!” He’d puff out cheeks and walk uneven and she’d force herself to smile and laugh (you have to, you don’t you know what’ll happen, Bevvie, you know) and wake up earlier for the next few months to hit the treadmill before the sun rose. </p><p>Or, if she’d lose a few pounds, he’d always trace a finger down her bones, clicking his tongue. </p><p>“Skin and bones, Bev. Why won’t we get some meat on this body?” He’d grab her breast, rough. “Don’t want to lose anything special, wouldn’t we?”</p><p>A wave of nausea had her breathing in, slow. She sat up.  </p><p>Shitty New York motel. Stained ceiling. Mildew air, junk food. She was safe. She was in the farthest thing from their penthouse. There was no smiling for the cleaning ladies around a foundation-covered black eye, no waking early to pull herself together with a first-aid kit and make-up bag. </p><p>Her face had been completely bare since she arrived. She watched the remaining bruises from her body fade, the aches and pains mellow out until her body was rested, healed. She opened another bag of chips, and sprayed can cheese over them. It was disgusting, and kind of delicious. She kept eating.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>Ben.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>I just spilled an entire hot coffee in my car. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>At least my car will smell great from now on haha! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Better than the time I locked myself out at 2 a.m. XD That wasn’t fun!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do they make coffee air freshers? I kind of like it. Wakes me up a bit. Could be good for early mornings. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wait I should clean this up before it starts to settle.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wow, you designed this? [MARSH/ROGAN.2009.METGALA.IMG]</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I remember seeing this in a magazine and loving it. I kept a cut-out of it in my desk for forever. Is that weird? I’m just now remembering that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Makes sense, now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I once stayed up till 4 a.m. watching Richie’s specials on YouTube. And I preordered Bill’s books the second they were announced. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Both were…. of varying quality. But they tried their bests! </em>
</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>if you’re reading this 💕💕💕 it means someone 🙋 thinks you’re the best 🎉🎉 coolest 🔥🔥 funniest 😂😆 person 😻 in the world! 🌍 send this to 10 of your best 👌💗 friends 👯</em>
</p><p>
  <em>👯 to guarantee 💯 more years 💃😁 of great friendship!!! 🙈🙊</em>
</p><p>...</p><p>
  <em>U dnt dese this</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hi Bev!! Bit late, isn’t it? Hope you’re getting enough sleep. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t think I understand your text. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ur so good. U should live ur life.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>not waiting fr me. Im messy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Have you been drinking? Are you okay?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I dont want to b alone</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Im tird of it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>but i cant b w u right now</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Im sorry. U deserve better. U deserve everything</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You are my everything, Bev. And I completely understand. You don’t ever need to apologize to me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But we have five other friends, you know? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Any of us would open our door without question. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well, I don’t think Mike technically lives anywhere right now, but I’m sure he’d love a traveling buddy if that’s what you’re looking for.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I want a home</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I miss everyone. I miss u.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>losers r as close 2 home ive ever had.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[zillow.listing958362.screenshot.IMG]</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Looks big, doesn’t it? Probably empty. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>We can’t help you if you don’t let us. Please let us. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ur good, new kid.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Uve always been good.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re good too, Bev Marsh.</em>
</p><hr/><p>The vodka was a bad idea. </p><p>She hadn’t meant to overdo it, really. She’d been jumpy all day and anxious and, well, who hadn’t used alcohol to calm down once or twice? That’s all she wanted. She just wanted to relax enough to be carried off into a warm, heavy sleep. No nightmares. That’s all she wanted. </p><p>But it wasn’t like she had anything to mix with it, and she was apparently used to it water-downed a bit. So she’d gotten shockingly drunk shockingly quickly and stayed that way for most of the night. </p><p>And she had texted Ben. </p><p>And she<em> texted </em> Ben. </p><p>It happened around 3 in the morning. And he had answered within the minute, every single one. That meant... a lot to her. He was kind, concerned, and he responded when she needed to hear from him the most. </p><p>God, she missed. All of them, so fucking much. There'd been a hole in her chest for the past 27 years, she thought that was just apart of being an artist, of being human, but when they were together in that crappy Chinese restaurant, laughing over nothing and everything... </p><p>She'd felt full, complete. She felt like a person again. </p><p>She looked around. She was nursing her hangover, curled on her floor mattress. She slept on a pile of towels now cause she still didn't trust the linens, and a pile of garbage was crumpled up beside her. Most days, she couldn't convince herself to leave the bed unless it was to use the bathroom or down a bottle of water. Her hair was so greasy, she could probably rub the oil onto her fingers. Her dirty clothes were discarded around the floor. She was probably going to throw most of them in the trash, waste be damned. She already had enough Derry hanging off her back. </p><p>This looked like the kind of place people died in on TV. Dirty, unkept, a mess. The set of a TV murder, with actors who'd wrinkle their noses and comment on the pig-sty mess. </p><p><em>I don't want to die here, </em>she thought suddenly, fierce. She'd thought the exact same things a hundred times in Derry. Hell, she thought the exact same thing in Tom's penthouse. </p><p>What the hell was she still doing here?  </p><hr/><p>OUTGOING CALL: Stan Uris </p><p>
  <em> Call connected. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hello?” </em>
</p><p>“Hey, Stan.”</p><p>
  <em> “Beverly. It’s good to hear from you. The groupchat’s been quiet without you.”  </em>
</p><p>“Liar. I’ve seen all 23 memes Richie sent yesterday.”</p><p>
  <em> “That’s unfortunate.” </em>
</p><p>“Agreed."</p><p>
  <em> "So, how are you doing?" </em>
</p><p>"I'm fine."</p><p>
  <em> "That's good."  </em>
</p><p>"Yeah." </p><p>[long moment of silence]</p><p>“... don’t you want to know where I ran off to?” </p><p>
  <em> “Well, if you want to tell me, sure.”  </em>
</p><p>“I mean, aren’t you pissed I ran off without a word? I know Ben’s okay but… I don’t know. I left you all alone in the inn without any notice. I would have been pissed.” </p><p><em> “I know Richie and Eddie hardly act like it, but we </em> are <em> adults, Beverly. We handled everything fine. I also kind of figured you were planning something when you spent 45-minutes in the bathroom with my phone.”  </em></p><p>“...”</p><p>“You knew?” </p><p>
  <em> “I mean, I knew you were planning something, and had all your luggage together. I knew you were uncomfortable when Bill suggested staying a few more days to help get Mike packed up. I knew you showed up with bruises and you were getting a divorce. And I figured it would make a lot of sense if you took some time off for yourself.”  </em>
</p><p>“... did you tell them anything?”</p><p>
  <em> “No. It wasn’t my place.” </em>
</p><p>“Thanks, Stan. I owe you one.” </p><p>
  <em> “No need. I’m glad you’re doing well, Beverly. Where are you staying?” </em>
</p><p>“Hotel. I’m still in the city.” </p><p>
  <em>“‘Still’? Are you planning on leaving?”</em>
</p><p>“I don’t know. Maybe. The city doesn’t feel mine anymore.”</p><p>
  <em> “Patty and I have a guest bedroom. Atlanta’s no New York City, but it’s good. Good food. The flight’s not bad.”  </em>
</p><p>“You fly to New York a lot?”</p><p>
  <em> “Sometimes. One of Patty’s sorority sisters works at a finance company. When they need extra help, they’ve brought my firm in. We do pretty well.”  </em>
</p><p>“Huh. What did you say your firm was called?”</p><p>
  <em> “Bennett and Cohen Accounting?”  </em>
</p><p>-laugh- “You’re not going to believe this. I swear, Marsh and Rogan was a hair away from reaching out to you guys. You came highly recommended. Tom decided to go with an old college friend last minute.”</p><p>
  <em> “Who’d the contract go to?” </em>
</p><p>“Uh, Abade and Smith? Or something like that? We worked with them a lot.” </p><p>
  <em> “Ugh. When you get your own company set up, I call dibs on all the numbers. Don’t even look at anyone else.”  </em>
</p><p>“... You think I’m gonna start my own company?”</p><p><em>“Oh, you weren’t planning to? I just assumed.”</em> </p><p>“I've thought about it.”</p><p>
  <em> “And?”  </em>
</p><p>“I don’t know. Maybe. Who knows.” </p><p>
  <em> “...” </em>
</p><p>“Stan, do you think things would have been different if we all met again? Before? Like, if we’d hired you. Or ran into Richie at a red carpet. Or, I don’t know, bumped into Eddie on the street.”</p><p>
  <em> “Eddie would have had a conniption if a stranger bumped into him on the street.”  </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, probably. But do you think we would have… remembered? Some of it, at least?” </p><p>
  <em> “I don’t know.” </em>
</p><p>“Maybe if we just -</p><p>
  <em> “Bev… what are you trying to ask?“ </em>
</p><p>“I just. I don't know. I've been thinking about how things could have been different. I know if I would have remembered you guys, I wouldn’t have stayed with Tom. If I… you know. Remembered my dad. Remembered how to be brave.”</p><p>
  <em> “...” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Bev, I don’t think we can linger on that kind of stuff. I mean, who knows what would have happened? Sure, maybe we would have all reunited and gotten our memories back and taken IT out before it returned. Or maybe we would have just… you know. Bumped into a stranger on the street. Taken an account at a fashion company. Moved on with our lives.”  </em>
</p><p>“Yeah. Maybe. IT really didn’t want us to remember.” </p><p>
  <em> “... Bev. Why did you call?”  </em>
</p><p>“Can’t a gal talk to her friend?”</p><p>
  <em> “Of course she can. But that’s not why you called, is it?” </em>
</p><p>“I don’t want pity right now.”</p><p>
  <em> “It has not even crossed my mind.” </em>
</p><p>“I know. Which is why I called.” </p><p>
  <em> “I see.” </em>
</p><p>“I'm in the shittiest motel on this side of the coast. I've been cowering here for almost two weeks. I'm fucking terrified every time I hear someone in the hall. Be honest with me, Stan. Am I being an idiot?”</p><p>
  <em> “Elaborate.” </em>
</p><p>“Ben is… so good. You know how good he is. I should be running to jump into something with him. He’d probably have us on, like, a yacht right now. We’d be sailing off into the sunset. But instead, I’m fuckin cowering in a shitty motel and jumping at every sound and letting Tom fuck up another good thing in my life.”</p><p>
  <em> “If you’re not ready to live with someone, while in a relationship with them, then don’t. Does your ex-husband have control of the finances?” </em>
</p><p>“Our shared account, yeah. But I have a private account I started it when I was 18. I never told anyone about it.”</p><p>
  <em> “Smart girl. So you’re okay, financially?”  </em>
</p><p>“Yeah.”  </p><p>
  <em> “Good. What you and Ben have is too important to risk because of what you think you should be doing. The only thing you should be doing is healing. We all need to be focusing on that. So come live with Patty and I, or get your own apartment in Phoenix, or buy a car and live on the road. But heal while you do it.”  </em>
</p><p>-sniffle, then a shaky breath- “...Phoenix?”</p><p>
  <em> “Patty and I visited for our anniversary last year. It’s beautiful.” </em>
</p><p>“I’m sure it is.” </p><p>
  <em> “Are you, Bev? Healing?”  </em>
</p><p>“I’m starting to try. You?” </p><p>
  <em> “I’ve been trying. Patty helps.” </em>
</p><p>“I can’t wait to meet her one day. She sounds great.”</p><p>
  <em> “She is.” </em>
</p><p>“I should go. My exciting life awaits.”</p><p>
  <em> “Yes, it does. Call again, will you? You should text some more too. Ben’s probably gray with worry.” </em>
</p><p>“Mhm. Hot.”</p><p>
  <em> “God. Why are you like this? Did Richie do this?” </em>
</p><p>“Please, I was like this when you found me.”</p><p>
  <em> -laugh- “Take care of yourself, Beverly. I love you.” </em>
</p><p>“Right back at ya.” </p><p>
  <em> “You’re horrible.”  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <b>Ben.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>Out walking Howie when we ran into this! [sidewalk.chalk.art/turtle.IMG] </em>
</p><p>
  <em>How creative!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>… Howie?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My dog!!!!!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[Howie.sleeping.IMG] [Howie.playing.IMG] [Howie.halloween1.IMG] [Howie.dogpark.45] [Howie.eating02.IMG]</em>
</p><p>
  <em>…. Howie.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>… Yes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh, New Kid.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Backstreet Boys were a 90s staple!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I stand by it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Doesn’t he look like a Howie? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s perfect. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>[Howie.grass23.IMG]</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He's pretty perfect.</em>
</p><hr/><p>She called Stan, and it didn’t go terrible. </p><p>She didn’t know what she expected. She knew out of all of them, Stan would be the least annoyed (angry, pissed, furious) at her for taking off. That’s why she called him, after all. But he confirmed what she already knew. She couldn’t stay here forever.</p><p>It’d been almost two weeks since Derry. God, she’d been staying in this shithole for two weeks. Ben’s texts coming in. At least once a day, sometimes more. Stupid stuff—people he met in the store, pictures during his jog. Those texts were the only reason she was still sane. </p><p>But she couldn’t do another two weeks. She couldn’t. Where would she go? </p><p><em> Ben, </em>she immediately thought. She dismissed it as quickly as it appeared. Not yet. Like Stan said, she couldn't risk it until she was completely ready.</p><p>Mike was on the road, Stan, maybe? His offer seemed genuine. But his wife—Bev hadn’t met her, but never had great experiences with first meetings. Especially when a man, no matter how disinterested Bev was, came into the equation. Patty did seem wonderful, but her unease with the situation wouldn't help at all. She dismissed the thought. </p><p>Eddie—same problem, even more so from the slight details he dropped about his wife in Derry. And Bill? No. Definitely not. </p><p>Richie?</p><p>She paused, pulling Ben’s texts back up. </p><p>Richie. </p><p>She mixed hot water into her canned pasta, thinking it over. After washing the coffee pot with some of her precious body/dish soap, she started heating up the water. Eating dry, plain ramen wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat. </p><p>She could stay with Richie. Ben, from his texts, almost encouraged her to. And Richie, from as much as he bragged about his celebrity status, seemed to be struggling with returning too. Didn’t he choke on stage or something before Derry? She saw something about it online when doing some Google snooping. </p><p>Her life was a mess….his life was a mess. They could do this together. </p><p><em> Call Kay, </em> a small voice in her head said. Kay, one of her friends Tom hadn’t gotten to, and her wife was a lawyer, wasn’t she?</p><p>She was. Bev knew that for a fact. </p><p>She couldn’t keep hiding here, eating lukewarm pasta from a can. She had to get out. She had to live and—what did Stan say? Heal. she had to <em> heal </em>—</p><p>She had to get started on her fucking divorce. </p><p>In a horrible, twisted way, she knew Tom would take her back, if she went. If she cried and begged and did it prettily enough, he would. He’d beat the shit out her afterward, but he’d do it. He was probably waiting for it. </p><p>She gagged on the pasta. <em> Call Kay, </em>the voice repeated. It sounded strangely like Stan.</p><p>She was going crazy. Stan was just the last person she spoke to, the first person she’d talked to in a week and a half. </p><p>But still, the voice had a point. </p><p>She took out her phone and clicked on the contact. It was time to divorce her husband.</p><hr/><p>OUTGOING CALL: Kay McCall</p><p>
  <em> Call connected </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Who is this?”  </em>
</p><p>“It’s me, Kay. It’s me.”</p><p>
  <em> “Marsh?” </em>
</p><p>“Hey, Kay. How are you?”</p><p>
  <em> “How - how am I? Beverly Marsh, what the hell? What the hell! You’ve been missing for two weeks!” </em>
</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>
  <em> “Where are you? I’ve been looking everywhere for you, what the fuck! You sound horrible, what’s going on?” </em>
</p><p>“You were looking for me?”</p><p>
  <em> “Uh? Yes? You stopped answering my texts. Tom said you took a last-minute vacation and I about shit myself. Fuck. I’ve been spiraling for days. I’ve checked about every hotel, shelter, and hospital in New York City looking for you.” </em>
</p><p>“You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.”</p><p>
  <em> “Bev, I thought you were six feet deep in some highway grave. Fuck. Fuck! What’s going on? Are you okay?”  </em>
</p><p>“I left.” </p><p>
  <em> “...” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You left?”  </em>
</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>
  <em> “Beverly, what are you saying?” </em>
</p><p>“I left Tom, Kay. What else.”</p><p>
  <em> “Wow, I.... okay. Wow.” </em>
</p><p>“I really did take a last-minute trip. Broke my phone while I was out there. I’m back in the city now.”</p><p>
  <em> “I never thought... I’m proud of you, Bev. God. I’m so fucking relieved.” </em>
</p><p>“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”</p><p>
  <em> “I know. Bitch.”  </em>
</p><p>-laugh-” You really know how to charm a good. Speaking of, is Silena there?”</p><p>
  <em> “Yes? She’s napping but I can wake her up.” </em>
</p><p>“I think I need a lawyer, Kay. I’m… I’m not sure if I trust anyone else to handle it. I don’t she doesn’t really do divorce stuff -” </p><p>
  <em> “She’ll handle it. She’s still licensed for New York, anyway.” </em>
</p><p>“Oh, how’s Chicago?”</p><p>
  <em> “Marsh, I swear to god if you try and change the topic right now, I’ll fly to whatever the fuck you’re staying and strangle you.”   </em>
</p><p>“I’ll tell the front desk to keep a lookout.” </p><p>
  <em> “...You’re safe, right? Don’t tell me exactly where you’re at.”  </em>
</p><p>“Just at one of New York’s thousands of motels. It’s kind of shitty but. It was open when I flew in. There’s locks on the doors.” </p><p>
  <em> “Bev… do you have someone to stay with?” </em>
</p><p>“I’ll be fine. It’s not that bad.”</p><p>
  <em> “We’ve got a couch -” </em>
</p><p>“I’ve seen your apartment, Kay. You guys hardly have room for a house cat.” </p><p>
  <em> “I’m telling Whiskers you said that. And we’ll make room. That’s what family does.”  </em>
</p><p>“I’m fine, really. I’m going to stay with a friend. He lives in L.A.”</p><p>
  <em> “... a man?” </em>
</p><p>“A friend.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, men can do that, now?”  </em>
</p><p>“Kay.”</p><p>
  <em> “I know, I know. I’m just worried about my Bev Marsh, you know how it is. This guy… is he nice?” </em>
</p><p>“No. But he’s good. Funny. Kind of a dick.”</p><p>
  <em> “Like you! No wonder you’re flying out to live with him when I’ve never even heard about him before. A match made in hetero-heaven.” </em>
</p><p>“He’s not interested in me like that. That helps. I’ve kind of known him forever. I connected with an old group of friends at the reunion.”  </p><p>
  <em> “Well, as long as he’s funny, I guess that means it’s okay to move in at the first opportunity.” </em>
</p><p>“He… doesn’t know I’m moving in. I was just gonna show up.”</p><p>
  <em> “Ah, there’s the Bev I know and love. You sure that’ll turn out okay? I can book a backup room. What part of L.A. -” </em>
</p><p>“He’ll be fine with it. I know he will. I’m leaving soon, actually. I just wanted to call and get things set up with Silena.” </p><p>
  <em> “And catch up with your best pal, Kay McCall whose been worried off her ass for two weeks, yes?” </em>
</p><p>“Yes. That too.” </p><p>
  <em> “I’m glad. Marsh… I’m proud of you.” </em>
</p><p>“Don’t get all soft on me now, McCall.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, shut up. I have something to say.” </em>
</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>
  <em> “Just… I’m proud of you. Getting away from that shitbag wasn’t easy. And it’s going to be really hard. But you’ve got Silena and me for the whole way. And your new reunion buddies, I assume.” </em>
</p><p>“They’re more like old friends.”</p><p>
  <em> “Hush. I’m just saying that this is good, Bev. It’s going to be so much better and I’m really happy and relieved." </em>
</p><p>“Relieved?”</p><p>
  <em> “I wasn’t lying about thinking you were buried somewhere, Bev.” </em>
</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah. Fucking call me once in a while, okay?” </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call. Have Silena text me.”</p><p>
  <em> “Will do. Love you, Marsh.” </em>
</p><p>“.... Love you too, Kay.” </p><hr/><p>Kay’s call went on longer and she expected. But it was full of everything she did expect—questions about where she was, what was happening. Shock, disbelief. </p><p>Relief. </p><p>Bev never thought she’d leave him either. There was only one way out of a marriage like that, she thought. </p><p>Afterward, after throwing the last of her groceries in the trash, she flipped on the bed and turned onto her stomach. Pulled up Richie’s contact. </p><p>
  <em> wud? </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <b>Ben.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>Nice haircut. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You look beautiful. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Richie does too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ll let him know. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thanks, Ben. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sure you look beautiful too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[selfiewithHowie.IMG]</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh, look. I was right.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>:) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m glad you’re with Richie. You guys will be good for each other. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>How are you so sure? I could be burning his mansion to the ground right now.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But then where will you live?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>True.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do you maybe want to FaceTime later? Not right now.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But at one point?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, I would like that very much :) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>... </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do you get nightmares? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That’s a stupid question, ignore it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah. I do. Mostly about Derry. But other stuff too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sorry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You don’t need to apologize, Ben. We would all benefit from talking about it more.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What do you dream about? If you want to talk about it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If not, I can always relay what stupid stuff Rich did today.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The cistern, mostly. Neibolt. Being a kid and being cut open. All of us getting hurt.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stan not pushing Eddie in time. Bowers getting Mikey. The rocks falling on us. Bill not fighting against the Georgie clone. Blood. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Other things. A lot of being helpless. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>… Okay I might need that Richie story.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So he decided he wanted to befriend the birds outside.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just imagine how that went.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh my god. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tell me more.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He said he “wanted to make stan jealous” and get a photo of them on his shoulders</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So he covered his shirt in crumbled up granola bar and honey</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He watched a youtube video and everything</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Except these birds werent as… friendly as the ones in the video</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh my god. I shouldn’t be laughing this hard.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Is he okay?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s fine. Gonna take a lot more than some angry birds to take out our trashmouth</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ve got that right</em>
</p><p>😂</p><p>...</p><p>
  <em>Hey</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Got time for a Facetime?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes. Always. </em>
</p><p>OUTGOING VIDEO CALL: Ben.</p><p>
  <em> Call connected.  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Before I even finished Knock, Knock, I was brainstorming my girl Bev's prequel. it's about the HEALING!<br/>I! Love! Ben!<br/>next installment will be a sequel, hopefully! although when rina was beta writing KK (and who has never seen/read the IT series) she said she wanted to know Eddie's pov during it so..... Perhaps!!!! :DDD<br/>let me know if you enjoyed!! :) i need validation to exist as a person :))<br/>my Tumblr is rosyredlipstick.tumblr.com!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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